Tim freezes, his eyes seeming to see Kevin for the first time. He slowly asks, “What exactly are you saying?” Kevin responds evenly, “I’m here as on loan to your board. You can’t fire me because I’m independently funded and have air cover at the national level. And if you do, I’ll just go work with the Catholic stations. You know all this and we’ve had this conversation before. I’m here to help whoever needs it, as long as they’re not hurting anyone. Everything else is just noise. What exactly is the problem here?”
The hymns from the next room have stopped now. Everyone except Tim and Kevin are now at the far end of the house in the kitchen, noisily clanging pots and pans. Both men sit back in their chairs and regard the other. Waiting to see who will go first, and lose. Kevin starts to fish out a pack of local cigarettes knowing that Tim cannot stand the smell of their smoke, but since they’re on the porch, can’t really say anything either. Kevin then takes off his glasses, and carefully examines them for dust, before wiping something away, then takes out a wooden match, and starts to strike it against his boot. Before Kevin can get the dilapidated cigarette lit, Tim suddenly stands up and says, “Well, listen. I don’t have time to explain all this to you now. You’re right. You’re paid for through the summer. And you’re not my responsibility. You’re a liability. So that gives me a few weeks to get something in return for my trouble. One way or the other, I need you up on that peak and down again with all your gear and that tower at full power. Or, up on that peak with a month’s worth of supplies and a short-wave life-line to me until that happens. Or until you die trying.”
Tim is standing fully upright now, his voice at sermon volume, his eyes staring into Kevin’s. “You’re a leaf in the wind with no allegiances except to your no-creed peace church? Good for you. You signed on the line that was dotted. You said you know the deal. We both know you came in here naked as a whore, without K&R, logistics, or any physical security. You won’t even report in at the US Embassy.” He throws his hands up in frustration, “Now I’m trying to explain YOU down there, while also trying to run a radio station. You want to play power games? Fine. Show me what you got. Figure out how to negotiate through the mess your leftist friends have made for you in Cayes. Or don’t. But be someplace else until end of summer while I decide what to do with you. Now, get it done!”
Kevin slowly stands up and faces Tim, “I have accountability to my NGO and the folks back home who support me. I won’t quit the assignment or take back my commitment to the Haitian staff. Unless you make it impossible for me to continue.” Tim’s eyeing Kevin carefully now, as if sensing that this isn’t a negotiation. Kevin doesn’t raise his voice, but it becomes firmer, “But I will continue to voice my concerns about your programming and coziness with all the military regimes. My NGO simply will not involve itself in any missionary shenanigans with the US Embassy or the Haitian generals. I’ll find a way to sort out Mount Buff. I’ll explain the situation to the pastors in Cayes and find a place to live in Carrefour, so I don’t have to waste half a day every day, commuting from the fancy part of town to where I work.”
Tim suddenly appears to notice that his wife and daughters are standing at the kitchen doorway, listening closely. Kevin finishes stuffing his notebook into his overstuffed backpack and continues, “I assume the station’s Honda 250 will be available for local use in Carrefour, but I won’t beg you for a lift. I’ll hitch rides or use public transport until my home team can pull together enough cash for a car.”
They hear a horn toot from the street outside. Kevin glances outside and turns back to Tim, “That’s a friend of a friend who’s going to help me get my stuff stowed until I’m situated.” Tim takes a deep breath and assembles his “boss face” but Kevin cuts him off with a raised palm. “Before you start hurling your boss-speak at me, I want to say one last thing. And you can quote me. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck and arrive at the airport in the middle of a coup attempt. I’ve had a lot of training in relevant things for the past year. That’s why YOUR board invited me to this party. You may be an expert on how things worked when the Duvalierists and their Macoutes ran this place. But you might want to ask yourself whether this house will withstand a dechokaj. That press pass won’t save you or anyone, if Lavalas decides you’re the problem. And believe me, if they knew what I know, you’d already be sitting in the rubble.”
Now Tim’s face is ashen, and his wife gasps, Kevin looks at Tim’s wife and young daughters and says to them quietly, “You took me in, fed me, and played music with me. This thing has nothing to do with you. I’m not passing anything on to anyone about this conversation or the other things I know. I don’t have a dog in this clash of empires. But Mission Church has great music, so I really do hope to see you up there at the next Talent Show.”
Without waiting for any acknowledgement from Tim, Kevin opens the front door and drags his footlocker onto the porch. “You do what you need to do, but it changes nothing for me. Decisions will be made above my pay grade. I just do my job and pass along information to others who might understand what I can’t. I’ve already sent my personal report to family and church back home.” Tim opens his mouth to speak, but Kevin cuts him off, “I know you said you need to censor my mail, but I’m not speaking on behalf of you or the station. Never was my assignment. Sorry there was so much confusion.” Kevin’s friend (he hopes!) is waiting in a beat-up, primer gray, Ford F250 pickup truck, with a rusted camper cab. He grins when he sees Kat at the wheel. She smiles back at him with her permanently ironic grin and says, “Sake pase?!” (What’s up?!) As he closes the door to Tim’s house behind him, he laughs and replies, “M’a boule!” (I am burning hot!)